Hotel hobbies padding dawns hollow corridors 
 Bell boys checking out the hookers in the bar 
 Slug-like fingers trace the star-spangled clouds of cocaine on the mirror 
 The short straw took its bow 

The tell tale tocking of the last cigarette 
 Marking time in the packet as the whisky sweat 
 Lies like discarded armour on an unmade bed 
 And a familiar craving is crawling in his head 

And the only sign of life is the ticking of the pen 
 Introducing characters to memories like old friends 
 Frantic as a cardiograph scratching out the lines 
 fever of confession a catalogue of crime in happy hour 

Do you cry in happy hour, do you hide in happy hour 
 The pilgrimage to happy hour 

New shadows tugging at the corner of his eye 
 Jostling for attention as the sunlight flares 
 Through a curtains tear, shuffling its beams 
 As if in nervous anticipation of another day

On promenades where [bad word] propose to lonely arcade mannequins 
 Where ceremonies pause at the jeweler's shop display 
 Feigning casual silence in strained romantic interludes 
 Till [bad word] themselves to the muted journey home 

And the pool player rests on another cue 
 Last nights hero picking up his dues 
 honeymoon gambled on a ricochet 
 She's staring at the brochures at the holidays 

Chalking up a name in your hometown 
 Standing all your mates to another round 
 Laughing at the world till the barman wipes away the warm wet circles 
 The warm wet circles 

I saw teenage girls like gaudy moths 
 classroom's shabby butterflies 
 Flirt in the glow of stranded telephone boxes 
 Planning white lace weddings from smeared hearts and token proclamations 
 Rolled from stolen lipsticks across the razored webs of glass 
 Sharing cigarettes with experience with her giggling jealous confidantes 
 She faithfully traces his name with quick bitten fingernails 
 Through the tears of condensation that'll cry through the night 
 As the glancing headlights of the last bus kiss adolescence goodbye 
 In a warm wet circle 

Like a mothers kiss on your first broken heart, a warm wet circle 
 Like a bullet hole in Central Park, a warm wet circle 
 And I'll always surrender to the warm wet circles 

She nervously undressed in the dancing beams of the Fidra lighthouse 
 Giving it all away before it's too late 
 She'll let a lovers tongue move in a warm wet circle 
 Giving it all away and showing no shame 
 She'll take a mother's kiss on her first broken heart a warm wet circle 
 She'll realise that she played her part in a warm wet circle 

It was a wedding ring
 Destined to be found in a cheap hotel 
 Lost in a kitchen sink or thrown in a wishing well

At that time of the night 
 When streetlights throw crosses through window frames 
 Paranoia roams where the shadows reign 
 Oh, at that time of the night 

At that time of the night 
 Your senses tangled in some new perfume 
 Criticism triggers of a loaded room 
 Oh, at that time of the night 

So if you ask me 
 How do I feel inside 
 I could honestly tell you 
 We've been taken on a very long ride 
 And if my owners let me have some free time some day 
 With all good intention I would [bad word] away 
 Clutching the short straw 

At that time of the night 
 When questions rally in an open mind 
 Summon all your answers with an ice cubes chime 
 At that time of the night 

At that time of the night 
 Pretend you're off the hook with the telephone 
 Your confidence wounded in a free fire zone 
 Oh, at that time of the night 

So if you ask me 
 Where do I go from here 
 My next destination even isn't really that clear 
 So if you join me and get on your knees and prey 
 I'll show you salvation 
 We'll take the alternative way 
 Clutching the short straw 

If I